


deathly alluring

by sunflower_8



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hajime is a good boyfriend, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Rape/Non-con, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Unhealthy Relationships, past trauma, self hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21639628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: komaeda remembers.
Relationships: Enoshima Junko/Komaeda Nagito (past), Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 15
Kudos: 267
Collections: Faye’s Favourites





	deathly alluring

it tickles.

light pinpricks against his neck, curling around his shoulder. it’s phantom-like yet it feels like a ringing in his head, over and over and over and it’s going to make him deaf. maybe numbing one sense will let him float in a fog and ignore the incessant tapping, but it might just heighten the feeling of chills against fingernails. he can’t tell if the risk is worth it, or if he should stick to familiarity, but it’s not really his choice, is it?

_ keratin breaking through skin, blood gushing _

he’s in bed, and he knows that. he’s alone, and there’s no blood, but he can hear her laughing, loud and saccharine and artificial. it’s a sickening cue for her sweet whispers, all delusions but so present in his right ear (she would nibble that ear, sometimes) and there’s something deathly alluring about the way her cherry lip curls around the words and it’s almost like

_ no _

it’s funny, because it’s almost like he’s in her lap again. he can feel bruising against his neck, and  _ damn, that’s going to last. _ his neck always ends up covered in purple and yellow marks, and he presses on them to feel the infinitesimal adrenaline rush of pain. her hips collide with his, and his bones almost rattle at the clash. her poised fingers yank on his collar’s chain, letting pain ripple through his body as she fucks him with

**_NO_ **

and he’s laughing, because it’s hilarious. he knows she isn’t real, that she died so long ago, but the more he lingers on her corpse the more he thinks about sawing off his flesh—

(flesh so rotten it matches the victim)

—and attaching her cold, stiff arm instead. he doesn’t like thinking about it, because it triggers pain in the sensors that still work, and it feels like his nerves are fit to burst. so he keeps thinking about the way he drops onto a mattress, how  _ i’m not overwhelmed, i’m crying because i’m scared _ . about how they keep saying  _ oh! _ and  _ ah! _ like it’s fucking surprising. there isn’t anything shocking about this; there’s no intrigue when she walks in on him doing work and presses her nails into his cheek. her legs wrap around his waist and it’s like every other day but they have to keep the door locked shut and, now he’s not very keen on enclosed spaces, because that always meant they will end up wailing and moaning. 

there’s nothing pleasant about it, nothing satisfying. orgasms have always felt like falling to his death, and the wind is an ear-splitting shriek, and the pedestrians are so clueless, so he never allows himself another one after she dies. because every time he shuts his eyes, he feels like he’s falling again, but it’s so damn hard to keep his eyes  _ open _ . his pleasure is his ultimate misery.

but  _ oh _ , isn’t it so hysterical how he rocks in his room, wheezing and sobbing? no, really, it’s so fucking funny how much he lives to torture himself. every day for years, he has done this, whether it be small and subtle ( _ i’m sorry you have to see my disgusting body! _ ), a bit more pleading ( _ should i sit on the floor? or outside? _ ) to sometimes full blown panic ( _ don’t use the chain, please, anything but that please please i’m so sorry _ ).

the last one is the most pathetic.

he must be going crazy, he thinks, because it’s been so long and it isn’t even that bad because he brought it on himself, right, so it’s really not that bad. 

(he says that, but some nights he’ll be surrounded by warmth and think,  _ oh, it hurt when she engaged in physical activities with me. it hurt when the kids tickled me till i threw up and choked. when they asked what that was, it made me want to scream...! _ he thinks that sometimes and it’s so right that it feels so utterly wrong.)

he hears the tapping again, resounding inside his hollow, decaying head, and he does scream this time, out loud. afterwards he covers his mouth and laughs, ardently because that’s what he’s meant to do. the laugh sounds a bit like a wheezing sob and, oh dear, that isn’t what he wanted. well, what he feels is what he does, and so tears pour down his face and their tracks burn. he lets them. 

(he feels a little aroused at his twisted memories, and that’s so disgusting that he fills with a self loathing that makes his past bouts with depression seem like a child’s game. it’s enough that he wants to rip himself to shreds, to tear into his pallor and resurrect the human that died so long ago, simply to yell at them and tell them  _ why does your body not obey you?  _ because in every literal and metaphorical sense, the body disobeys its master, and maybe he’s just there for a nebulous second until his skeleton find another host)

he can hear her voice so clearly, and it’s rising to a fever pitch, and he doesn’t like this he really doesn’t, but--

_ touch yourself _ .

“ _ NO, PLEASE, I- _ ”

“ _ KOMAEDA _ !”

for a minute, they are still. komaeda’s eyes lock on the intruder, and the face he sees is filled with so much concern that it makes him giggle. then he laughs. soon, he is shrieking with laughter, his body’s shaking and his nails are digging into his skin and  _ goddammit that’s familiar- _

“ko, oh god.” this time he’s scooped up and moved to someone’s lap. he feels kind of dizzy, and he’s really confused because he doesn’t know what time it is. it’s either five years prior or today and he can’t tell which it is, which he  _ wants  _ it to be. the hands cradling him feel like hers and he wants to claw his skin apart, because she always wanted to see his bone structure and his deteriorating insides, and he always opened up for her- “ko, babe, breathe. you aren’t breathing. do you need me to let you go?”

komaeda doesn’t answer, just squeezes his eyes shut and sobs loudly, but he forces out a weak chuckle too. laughing was the only way he could survive, because there aren’t many ways to pretend, to tell someone so desperately  _ she hurt me there and there and  _ **_there_ ** without killing the mood. so he laughs and it’s clear the company doesn’t find it funny, not at all, because komaeda is soon held tighter with someone shushing him. 

“i’m here, komaeda. breathe with me. stay… stay with me here. you’re safe. look at me.” komaeda’s eyes open and he sees a green eye and a crimson one. both are really pretty, but the red one used to bore into him while he begged the owner to save him,  _ kill him _ , and he doesn’t like it much at all.

(the green just means guilt. g and g, you see? komaeda doesn’t like guilt much either, but the green hazel holly has emotion, and that’s usually good.)

“h-h-“ he struggles, and he’s quickly shushed. his chest pulses up and down, and he really can’t catch his breath, and for a moment he wonders if he’s dying and it’s so terrifying he wants to curl up and hide, but he can't, he’s stuck and oh, he’s failing at the breathing thing, but he always fails. he’s a failure, his existence himself. his heartbeat spikes but eventually it evens to something smoother, because soon komaeda isn’t thinking about the bloodstained room anymore, rather his self hatred, and then he doesn’t want to think about anything. his numbness only serves to regulate his vital functions, even if it leaves behind unpleasant thoughts and a body as heavy as lead. 

a careful hand cups his cheek, looking at him softly. “you okay? that was a lot, you don’t usually get attacks like that. normally, you...” the voice trails off. “anyway. do you need anything, love? do you need some water?”

he shakes his head, burying his face in his lover’s shoulder. for a moment, they are quiet, and all komaeda can feel is a hand stroking his hair. “h-hinata-kun?” he finally mumbles, a sad, sad smile on his face. “it’s funny. it really is.”

“...mm,” hinata hums neutrally, brushing tears off komaeda’s face and kissing the corner of his mouth. his expression is so serious and solemn, and they’ll have to discuss all of this later, but komaeda really, really doesn’t want to, because this warmth and kindness is all he has. hinata speaks again, “back to sleep, ko. i’ll stay with you this time. i won’t hurt you.” his lips touch komaeda’s forehead, and, huh, it tickles a bit. just a bit.

it’s really quite funny.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the delay. 
> 
> hope you enjoyed.


End file.
